Chapter Nineteen Jess
Chapter Nineteen
Jess
Jess barely restrained herself from slamming her front door when she got home. She chucked her keys in their basket and toed off her shoes.
“ More tests?” she grumbled to herself as she walked to the kitchen, frowning.
She snatched the water pitcher out of the fridge and poured herself a glass. “I went across town for a stupid appointment just so they could tell me they didn’t find anything wrong, but they want to do more tests?” she asked the empty room.
Her day had started out fine, teaching her morning classes and then getting a lovely surprise flower delivery from Mo. The bouquet of red camelias had soothed the light trepidation she’d been feeling about her doctor’s appointment in the afternoon. She’d almost cracked and told Mo that she was nervous when she’d texted to thank him. But keeping things separate felt better.
Especially since he’d probably worry.
After finishing her first glass and refilling it, Jess walked down the hall to get changed when her phone started ringing in her pocket. The caller ID read “Mom.” Jess’s stomach tightened, the glass and a half of water she’d swallowed, churning in her stomach. Weakness surged through the hand holding the phone, pain crackling through her wrist and knuckles. She wanted to ignore the call, knowing what it would be about.
Or, I could listen to Alice and Steph and rip the Band-Aid off.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, answering.
“Jess! Hi,” her mom said. “So good to hear your voice.”
Jess didn’t want to lie and say it was good to hear hers.
“Hello,” she said again, forcing an almost bright tone as she continued into her bedroom. “How’s it going?”
“Good, good,” her mother said. “Weather’s been great, my seven-sons have come in nicely this year. It’s attracted so many butterflies!”
Sitting on her bed, Jess realized her mom had just provided a nice segue. If she was going to listen to Alice and Steph—who, objectively, logically, were probably right that seeing her parents might help her—she could use seeing the flowering tree to bring up the possibility of a visit. Even though she was still very reluctant to do so, her friends had never led her astray. She’d pushed herself to make more difficult choices in her life; she could do this. She took a deep breath, preparing herself to speak, but then her mouth was suddenly dry, in spite of the water she’d just finished.
“Huh,” she scratched out. “That sounds nice…” Her throat sealed up, cutting off her voice. She pushed, but nothing happened. She coughed, trying to force her voice back. “Maybe you could send me a picture?”
“Oh! Will do. You’ll see, it’s so much fuller than last year. I’ll send you one from then so you can really see the difference.”
“That’d be great, Mom,” Jess said.
Angry with herself for failing to suggest the visit, Jess needed to get off the phone. The remaining agitation from the doctor’s appointment, and her disappointment with herself, meant her temper was on a short leash. She was afraid of saying something hurtful because she was struggling with her own emotions.
“Listen, Mom,” she said. “I’m expecting a work call any minute. I can’t miss it. I know why you’re calling, and I’m sorry, but I’m…I’m still not ready for a visit.”
Her mother made a small, muffled whine, and Jess could just see the facial expression that went along with that sound: her mother’s lips pressing together and then turning down on one side. Wincing at the pain still in her hand, Jess tugged at a loose thread on her comforter. For the first time, she noticed how strange and almost sorrowful the pattern on it looked in the meager light filtering through the blinds on her windows. Her mother’s sigh drew Jess back to the call.
“Okay,” her mom said. “I won’t keep you. Your work is important. But the door is open whenever you feel you’re ready. You know that.”
“I do,” Jess said. “And…thank you for saying that. About my work.”
“Of course, honey. It’s important to you, so it’s important to me. Love you, Doctor,” she said.
A slow, cold fog rose in Jess’s bones.
“Love you, too, Mom,” she said and ended the call.
Her mother hadn’t called her “Doctor” because Jess had finally become one. She’d been calling her that for many, many years. At least since Jess started high school. What her mother hadn’t said was the other part of the nickname, Pepper, because she couldn’t say it anymore. “Doctor” for the serious sister and “Pepper” for the sweet, spunky one who had once been attached to her hip.
Jess melted into the bed, grateful for the quiet and the dark so that the cold fog morphing into a heavy ache could cement itself into her bones, and she didn’t have to do anything about it. But she wasn’t going to cry.
—
That evening, sitting on her bed with her laptop on her lap, Jess sighed as her laughter died down.
She, Alice, and Stephanie had been talking for about an hour. Jess had been having a great time. It was nice to put the heaviness from talking to her mom and her frustration about her doctor’s appointment to the side. Stephanie venting about her students had made Jess laugh hard enough that her sides hurt, and she was happy to commiserate with similar stories. But the pain in her hand from the call with her mom hadn’t left. The ache in her muscles had turned flu-like. Which was odd because she hadn’t had pain like that in a while. She couldn’t remember any at all since she’d spent the first night with Mo.
It was almost like being with Mo, being open, allowing herself to start something hopeful and new had brought in a positivity that eased her pains, at least for a little while. But now that she was digesting the call from her mom and the “need” for more tests, the pain was back, requiring a lot of energy just to stay in the conversation with her friends.
“Jess?” Alice asked, bringing her out of rubbing her arms and back into the call.
“Hmm?” she answered.
“It looks like you’re trying to give yourself a deep tissue massage with your clothes on,” Alice said.
“Yeah,” said Stephanie. “And it looks painful. Wait—you didn’t tell us what the doctor said. Any news from your tests?” Alice asked.
Jess sighed, shrugging as she stretched out her hands.
“The doctor doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Jess grumbled. “The tests came back fine, apparently. But rather than just leaving it at that, she wants to do even more of them.”
Stephanie narrowed her eyes.
“Your doctor wants to be thorough, and that’s a problem?” she asked.
Jess rolled her eyes.
“I didn’t say that it was a problem. It’s just…it’s a waste of time. Clearly, I’m fine. The aches and pains will go away on their own.”
Steph let out an expansive sigh.
“Do I love you, Jess?” she asked.
The exasperation in her tone tarnished the content of her question.
“Um…yeah…” Jess said, glancing between her friends on the screen. Alice looked as confused as Jess was, but Stephanie’s face was hidden, her forehead supported by her palm as her elbow rested on her table. Jess couldn’t read her.
“Good,” Stephanie said. “Keep that in mind for the next thing I’m about to say.”
Jess braced herself.
“How…how can a woman as intelligent and analytical and educated as you are be so fucking clueless?” she asked, raising her head and looking into the camera. A much sharper whip of pain sliced through Jess, her eyes watering a little.
“Steph,” Alice said. “That’s—”
“Lemme finish, Al,” Stephanie said. “I love you; I adore you, Jess. You’re awesome and tough and I respect you so much that I want to be you when I grow up. But we have been sitting here watching you trying to manage physical pain. Pain that you said had abated and just now flared up after talking to your mother. Al, correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s been a pattern. She’s talked to her mom, or she’s had some reason to think about Cassie, and right afterward, pain.”
“I don’t…” Alice glanced to the side, then back at the screen. “Actually, you’re right, Steph. Jess, you’ve almost always mentioned pain or looked like you were in pain when your family has come up.”
Jess didn’t know about all that. There were plenty of times when the pain just was. It was there, existing, heavy and cumbersome, requiring her to spend energy on pushing through to accomplish whatever task was in front of her. She told them so, fighting off a growing tightness in her chest.
“Huh,” Stephanie said. “Kind of like grief.”
In a heartbeat, Jess’s bedroom became a vacuum. Air was hard to catch. Her head ached. Steinem caught Jess’s eye, stretching up from the floor to place his front paws on the edge of his bed. His mouth opened, but Jess couldn’t hear if he meowed because of the metallic buzzing in her ears.
“…did you?” Stephanie said.
“I’m sorry?” Jess asked.
“You didn’t tell the doctor about Cassie, did you?” she asked.
Jess couldn’t say anything at first. She folded her arms across herself, squeezing tight.
“Oh, Jess.” Alice sighed. “Why not? Her job is to help you. She can’t do that if you keep things from her.”
“What on earth could my sister—” Jess tried to catch her breath; it was too shallow and too fast. Her skin was burning, her voice louder than she’d intended. The growing, jagged confusion of frustration and anger exploding inside her kept her from reining herself in. “What could my very much not alive sister have to do with my very much alive, painful body?” she shouted.
“Everything!” Steph shouted back. “She has everything to do with it because you are refusing to grieve her.” Stephanie’s voice broke. The tears running down her face made Jess’s heart drop, slowing her rapid breathing and deflating her frustration and anger.
“Steph?” It wasn’t until she tried to speak that Jess felt the tears on her own face. “Steph?” she repeated, pushing down a sob.
“I’m sorry,” Stephanie said, sniffing hard and wiping away her tears. “I’m just…I’m scared for you, babe. I’m so far away. We both are. We can’t hug you. We can’t shake you. We can’t…we can’t help.” She wiped another tear.
Jess’s breath stuttered. The screen was completely blurry, and she blinked fast so she could see her friends.
“You are helping,” she croaked out. A sniff from Alice made Jess realize she was crying, too. “Al, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you all. I just…I…I’ve already grieved for Cassie, I cried. So it’s done. It can’t be impacting my body now.”
Stephanie glared but didn’t say anything.
“Jess,” Alice said softly. “She was your sister. You’re never going to be done grieving.”
The shaking started. A deep, violent trembling through her whole body. Adrenaline zagged through Jess as she remembered the only other time she’d experienced shaking like that—the moment her mom had called to tell her that Cassie was gone. She knew what was coming next, the fast, disorienting fall into anguish. She clung to the comforter, willing herself not to fall again as her tears flowed.
“Jess,” Steph said.
“Jessica, love,” Alice said. “Steph, we shouldn’t have talked about this while she’s by herself.”
“You’re right,” Stephanie said. “Jess, Jess. Look at us. Open your eyes.”
Jess was surprised at the need to pry them open. She didn’t know she’d closed them; she’d thought the dark was the anguish gaining on her. She sniffed hard but couldn’t unlock her grip on the comforter.
“Love,” Alice said again softly. “Can you call Mo? Do you think he could come over and sit with you? Just so you’re not on your own right now?”
“I don’t…” She sob-hiccupped. “I don’t want to bother him,” she said.
“Okay,” Stephanie said, wiping a hand down her face. “Then I need you to give me his number. Though based on what you’ve said about him, he might panic if the call comes from me.”
Jess gulped. Stephanie was right. If he got a call from a stranger asking him to check up on her, Mo might think the worst and race over. What if he had an accident on the way? Her lungs seized at the thought, and she coughed.
“I’ll…I’ll call him,” she stuttered.
“Now,” Alice and Stephanie said in unison.
—
“It’s ready, m’lady.”
Mo’s hand was heavy on her shoulder, warm and gently shaking her awake. The light hurt when she pushed her swollen eyelids open. But Mo’s gentle smile from where he’d crouched in front of her stretched out on the couch made it worth the effort.
“Hey,” he said when she focused on him.
“Hey,” she said, smiling back. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Less than thirty minutes, I think.” He tossed the dishtowel in his hands on his shoulder. “Do you want to eat here? Or should I set the table?” he asked.
Jess started to sit up but froze when she realized that Steinem had curled himself into a ball against her stomach after she’d fallen asleep. “Aww, Sty Sty. Thank you,” she said, running her hand down his back. He began purring. “I’d prefer here,” she said to Mo.
“Be right back,” he said, heading to her kitchen.
Jess sat up slowly, pulling Steinem along with her. She tucked him more comfortably into her lap and scratched him behind the ears. The aroma of the cooking food caught her attention, making her stomach growl.
“Mo, that smells wonderful, what is it?” she called out to him.
“Algerian chorba,” he said, returning to her with a soup. “The chicken soup of my family.” He placed the bowl on the coffee table and left again.
A few bright green coriander leaves decorated the top of a fragrant red-orange soup. Jess thought she recognized chickpeas among pieces of carrot and stewed meat. Her mouth watered enough to force her to swallow. Mo returned with utensils, a napkin, and a glass of water, sitting down next to her and scooting close.
“Mo, this looks…you’re not eating?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m good. This is the ‘I feel terrible’ soup. The, ‘It’s not okay right now, but it will be’ soup. It’s all for you today,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.
“Oh,” she said, hugging him back. “Thank you so much.”
He shrugged.
“Thank you for reaching out,” he said, smiling.
Jess smiled back and then dug in. She’d been right about the chickpeas and the stewed meat. It was delicious, but she couldn’t identify what kind it was. The urge to ask was there, but the soup was so rich, so delicious, that she couldn’t stop eating to speak. Hunger slammed into her, and she remembered that she’d barely eaten anything all day.
“Mo, are you sure you don’t want any?” she asked quickly between mouthfuls. “This is amazing.”
He chuckled.
“It better be,” he said. “It’s my mom’s recipe. Plus…” He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is an HSP thing. It’s not your fault, okay?” he asked.
Mo’s tone forced Jess to take a break.
“Okay,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“When someone I really care about is upset, I can’t eat if I’m near them. Being able to feel what they are feeling is great because it means I can usually help. The downside is that I feel what they are feeling. ” He laughed awkwardly. “Their feelings and my concern for them combine. Which means that digestion will not be happening. When Maddie was still very small and had very big emotions…let’s just say that I spent a lot of time not eating.”
“Oh, Mo,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. “I appreciate that you care about me a lot, but I feel bad about having that strong of an impact on you.”
“Please don’t,” he said. “Just the way I’m wired.” He shrugged. “Go on, eat.”
“Mmkay,” she said, taking another spoonful. “But I’m doing better now, you can feel that, right?”
He nodded.
“A little. Thanks to the chorba.” He winked at her. She smiled back. “That’s why I keep some in the freezer for emergency situations.”
“But I didn’t tell you it was an emergency,” she said between spoonfuls. “I was careful not to.”
He nodded and glanced away, running a hand down his beard. He shifted his shoulders a little then met her eyes again.
“You’re right. You didn’t say that,” he said. “But you did say that you need additional medical tests. That your friends didn’t want you to be alone. Those things certainly suggest chorba time, but your voice told me it was an emergency. You sounded…heartbroken.”
She slid close, wrapping her arms around him as he hugged her back. Of course he’d read her well. Felt her emotions well. His word choice made her feel guilty because she’d intentionally not shared Stephanie’s theory about grief with him, in spite of promising her friends that she would. But Mo, being Mo, had had an inkling.
She took a deep breath, squeezing him tightly, pushing herself to tell him.
“Thank you, Mo,” she said.
“You’re welcome, m’lady,” he whispered into her crown.
She took another deep breath, steeling herself in case the tears started as she shared and…the words got stuck in her throat.
“I…I think I’m going to finish this bowl,” she said instead. He loosened his hold on her as she sat up to start eating again. Her phone buzzed on the table.
Mom:
Hi honey! Sorry, I got a bit caught up in things. Here are the photos. I thought you might like to frame the second one. Love you! Xx
Quickly, two photos popped up in Jess’s messaging app. The first was labeled “today” showing the Seven Sons tree in her parents’ backyard, its lush green crown thickly frosted with small white blooms. Though her mother had labeled the second photo “last year,” a better name would have been “diminished.” It described the way the crown was smaller, the white blossoms were fewer, and the slowing feeling that Jess felt looking at it—because she and Cassie were standing underneath the tree, their arms around each other, laughing. Jess’s lungs stopped working.
Mo’s hand sliding across her shoulders brought Jess back into her body.
“That’s a familiar dress,” he said softly.
Jess’s confusion forced a breath in.
“Familiar?” She looked at the photo again. She was wearing the red dress she’d worn on their first date. Cassie was wearing her matching blue one. The photo had been taken the day of the party that Cassie had nudged her to go to.
“You looked beautiful in it then, too,” Mo said as he continued rubbing her back. But he wasn’t looking at the photo, he was maintaining eye contact with her, a kind smile on his face. And it felt like…like he was waiting, giving her space. She understood that he wasn’t going to ask her anything, wasn’t going to nudge her to tell him things she might not want to talk about. She smiled, her eyes tearing up.
“Thanks,” she said. “So did Cassie.” She stopped when her voice broke. Mo looked closely at the photo.
“Looks like she really loves her big sister,” he said.
Jess nodded, looking at it again.
“I love her, too.”